


'Till Somebody Better Comes Along

by Lauralot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Dildos, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rumlow Week, Sex Toys, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HYDRA attempts to contain the Winter Soldier's heat.  They fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Till Somebody Better Comes Along

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written two months ago, when I did not post it here because I still harbored delusions of respectability. But those are gone now and it's Rumlow Week, so here, have some A/B/O Winterbones.
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19458.html?thread=46539778#t46539778) on AvengerKink: _There are many A/B/O stories about Omega!Bucky being a poor little puppy (I love those), but he is after all the powerful Winter Soldier who flings scientists across the room or breaks into the house of the boss man when pissed off. So I would like to see:_
> 
> _The Winter Soldier goes into heat and Hydra tries to keep a lid on it with injections, toys, whatever. It doesn't work and Bucky is like "Screw this! I need the real thing," beats up doctors and guards and goes (while naked?) to find the biggest juiciest knot in the Hydra base._
> 
> _He finds Rumlow and drags him of to a cozy place (as cozy you can get in a secret Hydra base)._
> 
> _If you plays this for drama, humor, plot or smut is the filler's choice. Also how willing Rumlow is is to you._
> 
> _+10 if Bucky uses a crotch grab to check out an alpha's "equipment"_   
>  _+100 if Pierce makes a move on horny Bucky, but is dismissed by him with "You are old."_

They come at him with syringes and lubricants, holding him down on the table as shaking hands slide an artificial phallus inside him. It is not filling, it moves too gently, and while it draws moans from the Soldier, they are formed in irritation rather than satisfaction. Panting, hair and body soaked with sweat, he thrusts his hips hard against the object, growling low in his throat. _Not real, not right_ …The item is withdrawn and replaced with one bigger, vibrating, shoved in and out with force that matches the snap of his hips, but it’s nothing compared to the touch of the hands that restrain him and even that is achingly inadequate. His body is dripping and burning, the need so instinctive that he cannot help but lash out, orders be damned.

*

This is by far the most awkward performance review of Brock Rumlow’s life.

That Pierce keeps pausing the meeting to answer calls is annoying. That those calls are about the Soldier’s heat might be intriguing—who the hell would have guessed the asset’s an omega?—if Pierce didn’t insist on putting them on _speaker_. Listening the Soldier keen and snarl while the doctors whine that he’s taking their biggest toys without a hint of relief is…well, awkward doesn’t fully describe it, but it’s a start.

“Apologies, Agent Rumlow,” Pierce begins as he switches off the phone yet again. “Now, about your working relationship with Captain Rogers—”

The phone trills again and Pierce jabs at the button, a curse under his breath.

“ _Sir_ —” A voice shrieks and that’s as far as it gets. They hear crashing, screaming, absolute chaos.

“Incompetents.” Pierce sighs, presses another button, and lets a second of silence fall over them. “On your feet, Agent Rumlow. This must be contained before things get any more out of hand.”

Rumlow would worry about how to stand without embarrassing himself, but when Pierce pushes his own chair back the agent can’t miss the hard-on. Anyway, there are bigger issues at hand.

Well, figuratively speaking.

*

Rumlow catches the Soldier’s scent, sickly-sweet and overpowering, almost as soon as he steps out of Pierce’s office. His own blood is boiling well before they find the Soldier, nude and flushed, rock hard and thighs dripping. His eyes are both wild and empty and he is running from alpha to alpha, human hand like a vice at their groins before he inevitably growls and the metal arm sends them flying back.

“Soldier.” Pierce’s voice is pure authority. Only the tension at his jaw and the fit of his pants reveal any sign of reaction to the omega before him. “Behave.”

The Soldier stiffens. His programming and his nature are at war behind that blankly desperate face and, panting, he turns to his handler, a low, needy whine slipping from pouting lips. “I need—”

“I know what you need.” Pierce crosses the room in strides, places a hand on the Soldier’s shoulder. “I’ll give it to you. But only if you’ll be good. If you insist on acting like a wild animal, then—”

In a display of defiance Rumlow wouldn’t have thought the Soldier capable of, the man shoves Pierce’s hands away. “You are old,” he says. His voice is flat with only the smallest hint of a whine around the edges. “You are not viable.”

A few idiots in the room snicker. Rumlow barely has time to think _They’re dead,_ before Soldier is on him, metal hand bruising Rumlow’s hip to keep him steady while the right hand kneads at his crotch. Rumlow bites down on his tongue, refusing to groan aloud, but the Soldier lacks shame and he is whining, nuzzling his cheek against Rumlow’s groin while he fumbles blindly for the zipper.

“Soldier!” By some miracle it comes out as an order and not a yelp. The Soldier stares, irises swallowed by dilation, biting at his lip. He is whimpering but his hand is threatening to snap bone like a twig, and the combination of hard touch and soft sound is sending need flooding through Rumlow. It’s all he can do not to tear open his fly and fuck the Soldier into the floor.

“Not here,” he pants, pulling the Soldier up. “Not here.”

*

The first vaguely private space the Soldier finds is an empty conference room. Rumlow tries to draw the blinds but it seems biology has overruled rank when the Soldier throws him onto the table in spite of his protests, pinning him down with the metal arm while he fumbles with Rumlow’s pants. He scrambles onto the table, straddling Rumlow, and for one brief and terrifying instant it strikes Rumlow that the Soldier could slam into him with enough force to completely shatter his pelvis without even trying. But then the Soldier is sliding onto him, burning and tight and keening, and Rumlow can’t think at all.

The Soldier’s movements lack any sort of grace. He is frantically fucking, keeping Rumlow flat against the table with the metal arm across his throat. He bounces without regard for angle or comfort and when Rumlow struggles to move, adjust his position, the Soldier growls, pressing down harder. “Mine.”

“Soldier,” he manages, and a portion of the Soldier’s conditioning must kick in through the heat, because he looks at Rumlow with something approaching clarity in his eyes for the first time. He's thrusting as if his life depends on it, but his hold loosens enough for Rumlow to breathe. Rumlow bends his knees, places his hands on the Soldier’s hips and guide his movements. The rhythm is fast and rough, but at least now there is a rhythm.

“Touch yourself.” He takes one hand from the Soldier’s hip and taps at the metal resting across his throat.

The Soldier trails his hand down Rumlow’s chest, pausing at his stomach before he lifts his wrist and wraps his fingers around his own length. His head tilts back, eyes fluttering, and the sound he makes goes straight to Rumlow’s cock. Returning his hand to the Soldier’s body, Rumlow snaps his own hips up to meet his movements. His breathing is no longer constricted but his vision goes dark around the edges regardless.

After, while he is waiting for the knot to subside, enjoying the sight of the Soldier breathless and dazed, squirming on his cock, the door opens.

“Agent Rumlow.” Pierce’s voice is flat and professional as always, and Rumlow should be more concerned that his boss is seeing half-naked and splattered with the Soldier’s come, but he can’t bring himself to think clearly enough to care. “I think it would be best if we rescheduled your evaluation.”

“Sir,” is all he can manage by way of an answer before the Soldier is pinning him down again, wincing as he struggles to move while knotted. 

“Mine,” he snaps, uncharacteristic defiance in his eyes.

“All yours,” Pierce agrees, and Rumlow doesn’t have to see him to know he’s smirking. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Yes, sir."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a lyric of Marilyn Manson's ["User Friendly."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NgZI_qnugiY)


End file.
